---
The elevator doors opened with a soft ding.
Inside, two women were already standing.
One wore a deep red saree, her hair tied neatly in a bun, lips coated with a thin layer of brownish lipstick. The other was dressed in a blue salwar kameez, a grocery bag hanging from her hand.
The moment Madhurima stepped in, their eyes began to scan her—from the heels of her shoes all the way up to the curve of her neckline. Just one quick look was enough for them to exchange knowing glances.
Madhurima stood inside the elevator, gripping Katha's hand tightly. The girl had curled into herself, still wincing from pain.
The two women were burning with jealousy.
Despite being the mother of a teenage girl, Madhurima was still strikingly beautiful. In contrast, their own bodies had begun to lose shape the moment they gave birth. And that bitterness made them eager to rub salt into her wounds.
The woman in the red saree curled her lips into a mocking smile and said loudly enough to be heard,
"So, the urge to show off her body hasn't faded even at this age, huh? No shame at all—completely forgetting she has a high school–going daughter!"
The other woman replied with a smirk,
"Why would it fade? When your profession depends on it, you have to dress up every day. Otherwise, customers stop coming."
Madhurima felt her ears burn.
But she didn't let even a trace of anger or discomfort show on her face. She was tired—exhausted—from fighting people like this. Instead, she straightened her shoulders, standing tall as if none of their words were touching her.
Beside her, Katha stood silently, feeling only the painful pressure of her mother's grip.
As the elevator descended, the woman in the red saree leaned closer and whispered—intentionally loud enough for Madhurima to hear—
"You know, no one has any idea who that girl's father is. And why would they? She spends every night with a different man…"
The other woman immediately added,
"Does a father even matter? That girl gets a new 'father' every single day."
The elevator doors opened.
Thank God they did.
Madhurima yanked her daughter's hand and stormed out. If she had stayed inside even one second longer, she would have smashed her fist into those women's faces without hesitation.
As Madhurima walked past them into the corridor, the two women snickered behind her—
"Did you smell that expensive perfume? Must've had a great night's earnings."
---
On the ground floor, several women were gathered—some holding grocery bags, some carrying milk packets, others getting their children ready for school.
The moment they spotted Madhurima, murmurs erupted.
"Have you seen her? All dressed up again." "Of course she is—her business demands it." "That prostitute is ruining the reputation of this neighborhood." "Our colony isn't respectable anymore." "She even sends her daughter to school! As if someone like her knows how to raise a child." "No one even knows who the girl's father is! Can a child grow up right without a father?"
The words flew at her like sharp thorns.
Some women exchanged eye signals.
Some twisted their lips in contemptuous smiles.
Some muttered curses under their breath.
Madhurima walked slowly, as though she couldn't hear any of it. She had fought enough battles in life. She was tired now—bone-deep tired.
One woman wrinkled her nose and sneered openly,
"There she is—that cursed woman! Living off men's pleasure money… sending her daughter to school during the day, and doing her dirty business at night!"
Another whispered with widened eyes,
"How else would she afford that lipstick? Those dresses? If her name ever comes up in the papers, our society's reputation will be finished."
Someone laughed cruelly,
"Finished? It already is! Everyone knows our building because of that shameless woman from Flat Seven!"
Another spat angrily,
"When will this whoring stop? Living in an apartment with a child, yet spending all day with men… disgusting!"
Someone glanced sideways and mocked,
"I've seen men visiting her apartment too… who knows, maybe she lets her daughter get involved as well."
Another added venomously,
"She'll probably turn her daughter into the same thing!"
"I swear, the girl already looks like her mother. She's just a bud— but it won't be long before she blooms!"
"That's why I tell my son to stay far away from that girl—even at school."
"I don't understand why a woman like that sends her daughter to St. Francis."
"All of this is just a show of decency. Can the daughter of an immoral woman ever be civilized?"
"She sends her to school just to pretend she's respectable."
"Have you noticed the girl's figure? Such a young child—and already such a heavy chest!"
"Who knows what filthy things she's already been forced into? Those places pay the highest rates for girls that age."
"I saw her taking the girl to a gynecology clinic the other day. Disgusting!"
The so-called respectable people of society didn't hesitate for a second before branding even a child as impure.
One woman openly hurled an insult—
"Such shameless prostitution—I've never seen anything like this in our area. Why hasn't the society thrown her out yet?"
Another replied with a smirk,
"Maybe that prostitute warms the colony head's bed too!"
---
As Madhurima stepped outside the building, the drivers standing near the parked cars began to grin obscenely.
"There she comes—Madam!" "Damn… what a sight!"
To them, she wasn't a human being.
She was an object.
Something to be evaluated, owned, commented on.
Their twisted minds gave them a sense of entitlement—as if leering at her and humiliating her were perfectly normal acts.
Near the front of the neighboring building, a group of women stood chatting.
As Madhurima walked past holding her daughter's hand, one woman smirked and whispered into another's ear,
"See that? Looks like she's found a new prey again. It's her habit—anywhere she sees a new man, she pounces."
Another nodded, hissing like a snake,
"At this age too! No one knows who the girl's father is, yet she struts around in high heels and tight clothes!"
One woman complained loudly,
"She's trying to trap all the men in the society."
Two of them spoke together, dripping with accusation,
"Yes—walking around in tight mini dresses, dark red lipstick, wearing obscene clothes like that—what do you expect the men of the colony to do? Close their eyes?"
Someone added,
"She came to my husband asking for an electrician's number the other day. I knew right then—this woman has bad intentions."
Another said coldly,
"We need to find an excuse and throw her out of the colony."
They all nodded in agreement—as if the entire burden of morality rested on their shoulders, and Madhurima was the greatest threat to it.
---
To be continued…